Fire and Surf:
Conquering the Waves
By Candee
Intro: This story references my other stories; Song of Life and Why did I become a firefighter. Although you do not need to read these stories to enjoy this one. Please excuse any incorrect info in here about brushfires, the L.A. County fire department, and surfing. This is a purely fictional story and was written for the enjoyment of it. As always, I do not own these characters, I am only borrowing them. Thanks and enjoy.
Mike stood on the deserted beach, his worn boardshorts hung loosely to his knees, his bare shoulders and back warmed by the radiant morning sun, and a new surf board planted upright in the sand next to him. A slight breeze gently ruffled his straight brown hair, his bangs falling across his face. At the fire station he would have felt compelled to brush them back into place, but out here there were no uniforms, no captains, and no regulations. Out here there was only the sun, the sand, and the surf.
He looked out and watched the surf gently roll in. The waves weren't that high, only about ten to fifteen feet. A couple days ago, they would have been choice, thirty to forty feet, probably sixty at Maverick. The waves were always high when the strong Santa Anna winds blew in and kicked them into a fury. The same winds that blew a small camp fire into a raging inferno; an inferno that took four days to knock down; an inferno that at one point had threatened to come crashing down around him like the surf on the beach.
Four days ago.
Mike Stoker stood in front of the fire station, his uniform cleaned and neatly pressed, his badge glinting in the radiant morning sun; one flag tucked under his left arm, the other in his right hand. Attaching the grommets to the hooks, he slowly pulled the American flag part way up and attached the California State flag to the next set of hooks. As the flags slowly made their way to the top of the pole, a stiff breeze caught them, snapping them to attention and holding them there.
Mike turned his face to the wind coming off the ocean and his bangs blew across his forehead. Reaching up, he pushed them back into place. If the winds stayed strong, the waves would be rad. He'd been dying to try out the new board Hannah and the boys got him for his birthday. It was the newest thing in surfing, about two thirds the size of his long board. From what he had seen and heard, it was quicker and more maneuverable; allowing the rider to drop down the face and then pop back up on top. Some of the dudes he had talked to said it was a real wicked ride.
His smile turned into a frown as another strong warm breeze pushed past him and made its way northeast into the foothills. Foothills that were dry and tender, primed for a busy brushfire season. Mike turned and went back into the station, Cap would be calling inspection soon and the morning chores would be assigned.
Two hours later the first call came in, brush fire just north of Pasadena in Battalion 4's area. Two hikers alerted the fire camp just north of I 210 of the blaze that was rapidly cutting a path across the valley. Units from Battalion 4 and 10 were rolled out. The day flew by as Stations from various Battalions were stepped up to cover territories left short handed. The atmosphere at 51 was quiet and pensive. The guys called family and took naps when they could; knowing that if the fire was not quickly contained that they would be brought in on the second staging, leading to a very long night. They didn't have to wait long. At six p.m. the call went out pulling three units from Battalion 9 and two from 14. The tones went out and the men of Station 51 scrambled for their engine and squad. The adrenaline bubbling just below the surface, Mike's senses were heightened as he expertly weaved the big engine through the traffic and into the foothills to the staging area.
Cap and Roy got out and walked over to the command center to get their assignments. Mike looked at the other men of A shift. Marco's eyes were closed, his mouth silently moving as he repeated his litany of prayers, crossing himself every now and then. Chet busied himself with various pieces of equipment, checking and rechecking them. Johnny, unable to sit still in the cab of the squad was pacing by his door. Mike could almost feel youthful exuberance emanating from him.
Mike still had a hard time believing that Johnny was only twenty one years old and not the twenty five that everyone believed him to be. When he and Roy had retuned from Montana the guys gathered at the De Soto's for a small welcome back. After a few drinks and small talk, the question of Roy's injuries came up. The bandaged arm and stiffness in the way he walked and sat spoke volumes; something serious had happened. Roy had looked to Johnny who had looked briefly at Roy and then fixed his gaze at the floor in front of him. Slowly he told the story of his childhood and the abuse he had endured at the hands of his stepfather, of his 'rescue' by Jack and Carol Kemp, and of his coming to L.A. and changing his age. Exhausted, Johnny had leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. Roy finished the story with the events that had transpired during their trip to Montana and their run in with Johnny's stepfather. When he left, Mike had felt overwhelmed, his stomach twisted in a knot. He knew that there were kids out there that were mistreated, but it was always some other person out there, never someone you actually knew. That evening he had gone home and held onto his own two sons a little tighter.
Shaking his head he came out of his reverie to see Cap and Roy walking back to the vehicles. Roy and Johnny started unloading supplies and hauling them toward the triage area. They would stay behind. Cap hopped in the cab of the engine and directed Mike to one of the service roads that lead to the northwest. They would be joining engine 110 on a ridge cutting and digging a fire break. The winds had reversed and were now heading back into town and they needed to stop it before it devoured several communities just past that ridge. They estimated that the fire would reach that spot in about 3 hours. It was up to them to make sure it didn't get past them. Cap tossed sack dinners to Marco and Chet and encouraged them to eat up. It was going to be a while until they got back to base camp and they would need all the energy they could get. Cap sat Mike's next to him on the front bench and then proceeded to dive into his own sack pulling out a sandwich and an apple. Concentrating on the narrow dirt and gravel road, Mike would find time later to grab a bite to eat.
20 minutes later, Mike pulled the engine up behind 110's. Jumping out the men fastened their turn outs and grabbed shovels and chain saws. Cap directed Mike and Chet - who carried the chainsaws - to go down the hill about a hundred yards and join two of 110's guys cutting down trees and pushing them back down the slope. This would create a wider gap that the fire would have to leap; hopefully allowing them to stop it in its tracks. Cap and Marco joined the rest of 110's crew and Captain, using the shovels to dig up the vegetation and turn it under creating a bare earth barricade. Mike paused and looked across the valley below to the adjacent hill top. The sky was black with smoke and tinted orange from the leaping flames. Slowly the fire crept down the far hillside to the valley below. It wouldn't be long until it reached the bottom and started to climb toward them. Bending to the task at hand Mike lowered his face shield, started up the chainsaw, and began the work of felling his first tree.
Two hours and approximately twenty trees later, Cap had ordered their second fifteen minute rest period. Mike leaned against the rear wheel of the engine, his half eaten sandwich sitting on the ground next to him, an empty bottle of water next to it. His eyes closed, he could hear the fast approaching roar of the fire as the wind whipped it up into thirty to forty foot waves of leaping and dancing flames, the booming of the burning trees as they crashed to the ground. The heat from the flames as they steadily marched up the hillside quickly evaporated the sweat from their skin. Rest periods would come more frequently as the work and the heat threatened to overwhelm the men with heat exhaustion. Mike opened his eyes and looked at the weary soot covered faces of his crewmates. Marco sat with his knees pulled up, his forearms resting across them, his head resting on his arms. Although his lips were now still, Mike knew that he was probably still reciting prayers to which ever saint may be listening. Chetlay curled up on the ground, his arm as a pillow, his eyes closed, napping. Cap sat quietly studying the fire down the hill, marking its progress, determining its speed, predicting its course. Cap use to be a smoke jumper before he joined L.A. County. His experience in the trenches had paid off more than once in saving the lives of his crew when situations turned hairy.
Mike watched as Cap slowly stood up and walked over to 110's Captain. After talking briefly they announced that they had about another hour of work to do and it would be cutting it tight. Determined not to let the fire cross their break; the crews of 51 and 110 returned to their work. Half walking, half sliding down the steep incline of loose overturned earth Mike made his way toward the few remaining trees. The heat of the flames intensified as they leaped and roared up the hillside. They knew they were pushing it close as hot embers ignited the tops of the trees they were felling and the ground at their feet steamed. Pushing over his last tree, Mike turned at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Chet pointed up the hill to where Cap was signaling for everyone to retreat. He pointed to his watch then held up 5 fingers and then pointed to the sky. He was signaling that the water drop would be there in 5 minutes. Mike gave the thumbs up and then proceeded to follow his fellow crewmate up the hill. He noted that everyone else had already made it up to the safety of their engines. Turning back to take one last look at the waves of flames crashing through the forest, a frantic movement at the edge of the tree line caught his attention. Scanning the area he caught sight of a beautiful white and brown horse rearing and tugging desperately at its reigns caught in brush.
Turning back to let Chet know he was going to head back down to free the horse, he realized the Irishman was already several yards ahead and would not hear him. Setting down his chainsaw, he made his way back down the slope to the frightened animal. He knew that if he didn't free it before the water drop, the force of the water would knock it off its hooves, possibly breaking its legs. Careful not to get too close, Mike reached across the bush and held fast the reigns. Wrestling the animals head down, he reached up and unfastened the bridle. With a mighty leap the frightened animal pulled loose of its restraints and galloped off, knocking Mike off balance and toppling his helmet from his head. Flipping over onto his stomach to reach for the wayward piece of gear, he reared back as flames sprung up in front of him assaulting is face. Jumping to his feet Mike quickly turned and headed back up the hill, flaming limbs of trees crashing to the earth around him. Looking up he spotted Captain Stanley waving and pointing to a plane approaching from behind the engines. The drop would come from the top of the hill down, wetting the newly created fire break and slamming into the front wall of the fire driving it back upon itself.
Mike looked around; he was on open ground with no signs of shelter. A plan formulated in his head. He would have to time it just right or end up in the hospital with several broken bones. As the bays to the planes' undercarriage opened and tons of water thundered out, Mike charged up the hill into the oncoming tidal wave of water. Crouching low, the impact of the water hitting his back drove him to his knees. Now came the tricky part, he could already feel the freshly moistened loose earth starting to slide out from under him as the force of the water carried it down hill. Gathering his feet beneath him, Mike took up a surfing posture, his right foot leading the way; in a Goofy Footed stance. Popping up into a low crouch, Mike caught the "wave" riding it down the hill. Shaking the excess water from his bare head, he looked up in time to see a large fallen tree blocking his path, the inferno of flames just beyond. Man did he ever pull a Gage this time was the last thoughts that went through his mind as he slammed into the tree and tumbled into oblivion. Wipeout! A total mullering.
Floating in and out of consciousness Mike faintly recalled being hauled back up the hill on a tarp and hoisted onto the back bed of the engine. He remembered trying to tell Chet not to fret, that he had taken bigger spills while surfing. Chet had quipped back that if he didn't lay back and stay still until they got to the triage, Cap may spill them right off the back of the engine. Mike groaned and slipped back into unconsciousness as they hit another bump.
At the triage area, Mike's eyes didn't seem to want to open. He could hear Johnny and Roy's concerned voices and something about a concussion and some possible cracked ribs. He remembered Roy leaning over and telling him he would be okay and that they were taking him to Rampart. He was loaded onto a stretcher and transferred to the nice cool interior of the waiting ambulance.
At the hospital he remembered briefly opening his eyes to the intensity of the overhead lights and catching sight of the kind Nurse McCall before slamming them shut again. Somehow or another he was able to croak out Hannah's name and the nurse gently reassured him they would call her. Voices came and went, the doctors, the nurses, x-ray techs, and Johnny, letting him know he was heading back to the trenches,and to next time leave the heroics to him. Mike remembered vaguely muttering something along the lines of if this is what it felt like to be a hero he could have it any day.
Shortly after they settled him in his room, Hannah arrived. His folks were staying with the boys. Hannah kept up a steady one sided conversation, burning off her nervous energy. All Mike wanted to do was sleep. Of course the doctor gave orders to the contrary. Since he had suffered a concussion, the nurses were required to wake him every hour just to make sure his marbles were all in place. They called it a neuro check, he called it an annoyance check. Unfortunately since he didn't get all their silly questions correct a couple times they felt compelled to keep him an extra 24 hours.
The TV, Hannah, the nurses, and the occasional visit from Johnny or Roy as they brought in victims kept him updated on the progress of the containment of the fire. Fortunately their fire break worked and they were already at 70% containment. The winds had died down and if all went well they would have it 100% contained in forty eight hours. They had lost a couple communities and two of the guys from 36 had been hospitalized with second degree burns. Mike was just glad he would be going home in twenty four hours. Dr. Brackett had given him orders to take it easy for an additional twenty four hours at home and then to report back to the hospital before his next shift for a reevaluation.
Two days later.
Hannah had wanted him to wait another day before coming out here, but this was something he had to do. They say that when a wave throws you, you have to get back on the board and conquer the next one or you will always question your ability. Granted, surfing a mud slide down a mountainside into waves of towering flames was not quite the same; but still, he was thrown and he had to get back on the board.
Grabbing his board, he tucked it under his arm and waded into the surf. Laying the board down on the whitewash he climbed on. Although the whitewash foam of the waves was for beginners, this was a new board and he wanted to get the feel for it before taking it deeper. Pointing it toward the shore, he gathered his feet beneath him on to the deck and popped up into a low crouch as the waves gently pushed him toward the beach. Definitely a lot more squirrely Mike thought to himself as the board flipped out from under him and dumped him on his butt. Pulling the board back to him he waded back out to practice more pop ups. It didn't take long before he was practicing 180s and cutbacks, something he had seen some of the Grommets do on these new boards, but something he would never have considered doing on his long board.
Sitting on the deck of the board, Mike looked further off shore to where the waves were lining up. It was a perfect corduroy and the waves were breaking glassy. Time to take it to the next level. Paddling toward the incoming waves, Mike grabbed the rails toward the nose of the board and pushed it under the water, duck diving, as the wave swelled over him. Some fellow surfers had shown him that trick of ducking and diving under the waves instead of trying to paddle through them. It saved time and energy. Making it out to where the line up would be if there were other surfers, he sat up on the board and straddled it, turning it parallel to the waves, waiting for the right one. He didn't have to wait long before he felt the wave start to swell beneath him, lifting him a little higher than the other ones had. It felt to be at least a twenty footer. Pointing the nose of the board toward the beach he started to paddle, propelling himself to the top of the wave as it peeked. Balancing on the top, Mike gathered his feet beneath himself and popped up into a low crouch, then leaning forward slightly and standing up, the board slid over the top. Riding down the face of the wave, the wind rushing past him, Mike leaned to the left and pulled into a bottom turn setting himself up for his next maneuver. With his left foot in the back, he pushed the tail of the board down and out. Carving the wave, he was now pointing toward the top riding back up it. As the nose of the board broke over the top he leaned heavy to his right, pushing his right foot and the nose of the board back down the face, doing a 180 and slashing the top of the wave. Leaning to the left again he dropped down into the barrel as it formed the perfect a-frame over him.
The roar of the waves became deafening as the cool blue walls surrounded him and embraced him. This was the critical time. Lesser experienced surfers become enraptured by the beauty and don't respect the power. If you stay too long then the wave will close out and a surfer can get locked in leading to a total mullering. Mike wasn't about to let that happen so he listened to the wave, felt it's power. He could hear the collapsing of the wave behind him, he could feel the wind increase; it was time to get out. Leaning a little forward, he picked up speed and shot out of the tube and into the soup as the wave broke at the impact zone; the momentum carrying him up into the whitewash. Leaping off the board he picked it up and walked back up to the shore.
Shaking the water from his hair he looked up to where the beach met the road. A tan Ford Bronco sat in the pull out next to Mike's Dodge Station wagon. Captain Stanley sat on the hood of the pick up truck. Hannah had told him where he would be. Having witnessed Mike's "ride" down the hill, Cap wanted to make sure his engineer was handling everything okay. Hank gave him a friendly wave and thumbs up; he was definitely impressed with his engineer's skill. Mike smiled and waved back. Everything was going to be okay.
Surfing terms:
A-frame: Perfect barreling surf. A cross-section of the wave reveals an 'a' shape.
Boardshorts: Quick drying, lightweight and worn by those surfing in warm water
Bottom Turn: The turn at the base of the wave when coming down off the face. Often the first move made after dropping.
Carve/carving: The classic surfing maneuver, turning on a wave.
Close out: Where a wave breaks along its length all at once.
Corduroy: Swell lines that look like corduroy material.
Cutback: Reversing the direction that you are surfing in one smooth fluid move
Deck: The bit of the surfboard you stand on.
Duck diving: Diving under an oncoming wave when paddling out.
Glassy: Ultra clean surf without a ripple – looks like glass.
Goofy Foot: Surfing with your right foot forward.
Grommet: A young surfer.
Impact zone: The spot where the waves are breaking.
In the soup: When a surfer is in the white foam of the wave after it has broken
Locked in: When a wave crashes and the surfer is inside of it.
Mullering: Wipeout of the highest order.
Rail: The sides of your surfboard, running from nose to tail and back again.
Slash: A rapid turn off the top of the wave.